


Half Buried

by thelonelywriter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry, Prose Poem, Self-Discovery, Self-Insert, Writing, Writing Exercise, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12523824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelonelywriter/pseuds/thelonelywriter
Summary: somewhere between here and there, somewhere between the end and the beginning, there you are, half buried and somewhat living, waiting, probably. all of us are waiting for something.





	Half Buried

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to try writing in second person, i probably have in the past but if so it was years ago so

somewhere between here and there, somewhere between the end and the beginning, there you are, half buried and somewhat living, waiting, probably. all of us are waiting for something.

or maybe you’ve gotten comfortable six feet under, and those shallow breaths and those flashes of what could have been, what could be, are becoming all too familiar, and the only thing that’s foreign is the feel sunlight, the whisper of a breeze telling you that maybe for once, you’re okay, and maybe for once, worry is allowed to dissipate.

maybe you’ve settled, somewhere, here or there, or somewhere in between where you’ve decided that the miles ahead are too long and too harsh. maybe you’ve settled before the line where the runners start.

flowers have bloomed over the parts of yourself that you buried so long ago. and possibly, just maybe, there’s a feeling, an obligation to not disrupt them in any way whatsoever because flowers are breathing and living and they have a right to the ground they flourish in. but what do those flowers do for you? and does the exchange between them and you even matter? 

the subject of your half buried self, the subject of where and how you’ve settled is much akin to the subject of war. because isn’t this what you’re in? a war against yourself? a war against how much of you gets to breathe crisp air and how much of you needs to stay under where you’ve made your home.

wars against yourself are never won. there’s no victory, no celebration. there’s simply nothing. a war in which you are the only one to fight, not only for one side, but for both, is a war that will never be finished.

somewhere between here and there, somewhere between the end and the beginning, there you are, half buried and somewhat living, waiting, probably. all of us are waiting for something.

**Author's Note:**

> i really just appreciate if you read the whole thing <3


End file.
